


Time is Tight Part Three: What Lies Beyond

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally. The cabin in the woods. Sam, Dean, Jayme, and John. Where does the road go from here? Takes the road to Devil's Trap and then yanks the wheel to the left.</p><p> </p><p>Final version as of 05/23/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a simple choice that was no choice at all.

The bullets for the Colt were limited, but using one to save Sam had been beyond question. It instantly killed the demon who was trying to beat the life out of him, before Jayme could even think of changing into her beast form and taking his head off.

When he’d gone back to his father, his battered and bloody brother clearly having trouble keeping upright, Jayme was already on her feet, John draped over her shoulders. It was a completely unreal image, her slim form holding his much larger one up as if it were no trouble at all. But it was a relief nonetheless—Dean could focus his attention on Sam.

They got to safety and Dean just held Sam for a moment, so ridiculously grateful his baby brother and father were alive that there were no words.

“Dean, keys,” Jayme said, coming around the back of the car. “I’ll drive.”

He handed them over.

“Takin’ a chance lettin’ her drive?” John said.

“You’ve never seen her handle a car,” Dean said, getting Sam settled in the back seat.

Dean was true to his word. She drove with precision, arrowing through town and out without coming anywhere near the sirens that had chased them from the scene. Once on the open road she gunned the engine, piloting the big car as if she’d been driving for fifty years—which, the three Winchesters realized, she had.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

“Hiding place,” she said. “Abandoned piece of shit out in the middle of nowhere but it is off everyone’s radar.”

John nodded and watched the window like he was memorizing the route.

Dean kept turning around, checking on Sam to make sure he was still awake. There hadn’t been time to stop and do any healing, and the sight of blood streaking his brother’s face made his stomach churn.

But he was alive. Dad was alive, Sam was alive, and they had managed to escape from who knew how many demons. Meg—or rather, the demon who had been possessing her for who knew how long—was gone, sent back to Hell where she belonged, and they still had the Colt. One fewer bullet, but two were still left. Enough to get the job done. Yellow Eyes was still out there, but Dean figured their current situation was as good as he had any right to hope for.

They arrived well after dark, Jayme pulling the car around the back of the cabin and shutting down the lights and engine. She stepped out, sniffing the air carefully. Convinced that there was no one around, Jayme opened the back door and helped John out, nearly carrying him inside.

Dean followed with Sam.

Jayme got John settled in the back room, then came out, finding Dean already tending to Sam’s wounds.

“He’s resting. He should be fine,” she said. She came over, holding Sam’s hair back so Dean could work on his swollen eye. “How you doin’, Sam?”

“Been worse,” he sighed.

She moved her fingers down, cupping the back of his head to help hold it steady. “I’m sure. I’m sorry I didn’t change. I should have, people seeing be damned.”

“Jayme, it’s okay. You probably wouldn’t have done me any good and you might have been seen. That would have just made everything worse. You’re lucky Monica didn’t see you.”

“I know, but—”

“He’s right, Jaymes,” Dean said, lifting Sam’s much less swollen eyelid to check his eye. “I know you want to help but you did the right thing staying with Dad.”

“I’m just glad you’re all right, Sam. Thanks to this badass here,” she said, patting Dean’s shoulder. Dean just shrugged, concentrating on Sam’s eye.

“I just . . . that guy I shot. He’s just a guy. And now he’s dead,” Dean said. “Sometimes the things I’ll do for this family . . . it scares me a little.”

“There’s nothing dishonorable about fighting to protect your loved ones,” Jayme said.

Dean just glanced down, avoiding her gaze. It usually meant the words had hit a sore spot.

“I can’t absolve your guilt, Dean, but all the same—I’m glad you made the choice you did. If you’d chosen him, Sam might be dead. Sometimes those’re the cards you’re dealt.”

“She’s right, son. You did the right thing.”

Dean turned to face John. “Dad?” He looked rough, but more alert than when they’d found him. He pushed off the door frame, moving into the room more steadily.

“That demon would have killed Sam and you—all of us—if you hadn’t stopped him.”

Dean nodded.

“You’re not mad?” Sam asked.

“You did what you had to do, Dean. I know Sam and I can get a little obsessive.”

“A little?” Jayme said, giving John a knowing look.

“But Dad,” Dean said. “I used a bullet.”

“I know. And it’s okay.” The lights suddenly flickered, sending all four bolt upright. “He’s here, he’s found us,” John said, backing up. “Sam, salt the windows and the doors, all the entrances.”

“Already did,” Sam said.

“Well check it again!” John ordered.

Sam groaned and stood, moving to do as he was told.

John turned from the window. “Dean, gimme the gun.”

“Dad, Sam already tried back in Iowa.”

“But I won’t miss,” John said, his hand out.

Jayme tilted her head. “Sam didn’t miss. It was a good shot, hit the damn thing head on.”

“No, he didn’t hit it, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” He looked back at Dean. “Give me the gun and quit playing around, Dean!”

The gun was out and in Dean’s hand, but he stayed where he was, making no move to hand it over. Jayme backed up, turning her body slightly into what Dean recognized as a ready position. It hadn’t taken her long to learn to read his bodily cues. She’d learned it far faster than Sam.

Sam returned from the other room. “Dean? What’s going on?”

“Dean, we don’t have time for this! I gave you an order!”

Jayme’s voice grew cold. “I think it’s about time you stopped giving orders.”

Dean raised the Colt and pointed it at his father’s head. “You’re not my father.”

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”

“I know my father better than anyone. He’d be furious that I wasted a bullet.” Dean’s voice was steady and deadly. “You’re not my dad.”

“Dean, what the hell are you talking about?” Sam said, quickly reading the expressions on Dean’s and Jayme’s faces. He turned, looking at John for a moment before backing up to join them.

“Sam, your brother’s gone crazy. Come on—you know me. We have a chance to end this once and for all but you need to give me the gun and _trust_ me.”

“No,” Sam said. “Dean’s right. You’re not our dad.”

John shook his head sadly, looking down at the floor. When his gaze drew back up to level, his eyes were swirls of yellow.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shit!” Dean cursed. Everything happened in fast motion, Sam and Jayme flung to opposite walls, Dean thrown across the cabin, the Colt flying from his hand.

Jayme lunged, trying to break free in preparation to shift; something with the strength of a steel band slammed into her neck, pinning her to the wall. She writhed, gasping for air, the strength of the force keeping her immobile.

“Stop it!” Dean yelled, struggling. “Stop it!”

“Or you’ll what?” the demon purred.

“Blow you away once I get free!”

“Listen to him!” the demon said, looking at Sam. “Same old Dean—lots of words, all of ‘em empty.”

Dean glared. “I’ll show you ‘empty’.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Sam snarled. “We’ve been looking for you a long time.”

“Well, you found me,” the demon said.

“Why the hell have you targeted our family?” Dean growled.

“Because they got in the way.”

“What?” both brothers gasped.

Jayme’s lip curled. “ _Semsha, tahktahprha_!” she spat.

“I got plans for him,” the demon said, nodding to Sam as he turned to Jayme. “Him and all the children like him. And there’s nothing you and your furry tits can do about it.”

“Oh we’ll just see about that,” she snarled, her eyes nearly glowing with fury. Her claws dug into the wood as a low growl rumbled out of her chest. “You let me go and I will end you in five seconds.” She faced the yellow eyes without fear even as she felt the invisible hand tighten around her neck, not only squeezing but forcing her head back.

“You got spirit. I like that. Most of your people are too calm, too rational to let the animal out. But you . . . you have the fire. I bet you’d gladly rip John Winchester to pieces just for being so mean to his boys, wouldn’t you?”

Jayme tried to speak even as the invisible hand got tighter, jerking her chin up until she could barely see anything but the ceiling. The demon slowly drew her up until her toes were barely touching the ground, keeping her immobile save her body’s increasingly desperate attempts to draw in air.

“No!” Dean howled. “Stop it!”

“Ooh, look, kitten. He’s worried about you. All nice and helpless, just like always. You know, I know all about your kind. You’re no more a mystery than these two are. So arrogant and superior, walking around amongst humans and taking your little notes as if they mean anything. And you, running around with these two hunting things because you know you could snap their necks like twigs. You don’t have to be afraid of them, like you’re always afraid around your own kind.”

“You’re full of crap!” Dean snapped. “Now let her go!”

Jayme felt a little of the pressure ease. “You know it’s the truth,” the demon said. “Even if you don’t admit it. You’re just a big ol’ fraidy cat underneath. Well, now you’re finding out you’re not the strongest one on the block.” He moved closer. “Certainly not enough to stop me, no matter what Daddy might have led you to believe.”

“Maybe I can’t,” she whispered, her voice strained. “But they can.”

“Sure they can. You’re just like them, honey. Lots of misplaced faith.”

“You mind getting this over with?” Dean growled. “Cause I really can’t stand the monologuing.”

The demon turned, stalking over to him. Seeing those eyes looking at him from his father’s face hurt in a way that made him burn with anger. “Funny, but that’s all part of your MO, isn’t it? Masks all that nasty pain, masks the truth.”

“Yeah?” Dean growled. “What truth?”

“You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam—he’s clearly John’s favorite. Even when they fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.”

Dean fought to keep the wall up. It was a low blow, but it was also a truth that he didn’t like to think about. Sam and Dad were the most important things, would always be the most important things, and he didn’t matter. It was the truth, it was the way it was, but hearing it out loud didn’t make it go down any easier.

Then Jayme roared—a kitten yelp compared to the roar she was capable of in her other forms, but loud in the small cabin nonetheless. “That’s not true! And you’re a piece of shit for saying it!” Her voice was ragged from being choked, but there was a strength behind it, an anger that went beyond her usual guard-dogging over him.

“Oh, but it _is_ true, kitten. You just gotta look into his eyes to see it’s true.”

“Come over here and let me look in _your_ eyes, _tahktahprha_! Come on!”

“You think you love him? You really do? You don’t know him; you should pick better friends.”

“Let go of my neck and I’ll show you how I feel, _semsha_. Come on, you pathetic _tkhohtk_.” Her mind raced, back to Rolan, back to Adha, looking for that right tone, the one that said ‘the energy expended to make my vocal cords work is wasted upon you,’ the one that gave contempt a physical form. “You know, there’s a reason our word for what you are is so ugly. You’re vermin, only fit to be exterminated, just like we did to your two little friends, Meg and what’s-his-face. Don’t know if he had a name or not—didn’t really have time to find out. Or maybe we just didn’t care.”

The demon wearing John’s face gave her a look and she knew she’d gotten him where it hurt, his expression moving slowly into a half-smirk, and she braced herself for whatever anger the demon was going to throw her way. Even death; if it meant giving Sam or Dean the chance to get to the Colt, she was willing to keep this evil thing focused on her if that’s what it took. It didn’t mean much to her heart, which was triphammering fast even for a neromancer, or the waves of sick panic threatening to tear her skull apart and drown what little control she had left, but even now there was still that part of her that welcomed the glory of a good death and she grabbed for it, held it tight, got ready to go down roaring her name to her ancestors to announce her arrival—

But the demon was turning away.

Towards Dean.

_. . . oh no . . ._

There were no physical weapons, nothing visible to indicate what was happening. Only Dean’s strangled cries of pain, followed by the blood that started to trickle down his chest. Sam was screaming Dean’s name, his lower voice a horrible counterpoint to Jayme’s as her body began thrashing wildly against the invisible force that held it.

For a moment the demon paused, and somewhere in the deep recesses of Sam’s and Jayme’s minds it registered that the force keeping them pinned had been somewhat less when the demon was focused on Dean.

Then it started again, Jayme and Sam watching helplessly as blood flowed from Dean’s lips. He looked up at his father’s form, eyes filled with pain. “Dad! Dad, don’t you let it kill me!” he begged.

Jayme howled miserably, her torso bucking and twisting. Sam strained, fighting to break free, hoping that maybe the demon’s hold on him would weaken just enough to let him get to the Colt before it killed Dean.

Suddenly John’s head dipped. “Stop.” There was a thud as Sam hit the floor. “Stop it,” he whispered.

Sam dove and grabbed the Colt. A moment later Jayme and Dean were released; she exploded into her beast form and ran—not for John, but for Dean, catching him before he could hit the floor.

“Easy, easy,” she whispered, holding him in such a way to keep pressure off his injured torso, his body nearly draped against hers. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Sam held the gun on his father, whose eyes had returned to yellow. “You kill me, you kill Daddy.”

“Dad . . . Sammy . . . ”

Sam tightened his jaw, forcing himself to block out Dean’s pleas. “I know,” he said, firing the gun and hitting his father in the leg. John fell, sparks flying from the wound.

“How is he?” Sam asked Jayme.

“I don’t know. There’s blood everywhere, probably internal bleeding and who knows what else.” Though she cradled Dean, her muzzle stayed turned towards the demon, all her attention fixed on him; injured or not he was still a threat.

“You get outta my dad, you son of a bitch,” Dean groaned.

“Sammy!” John’s voice was clear, drawing Sam’s attention back to him with a snap. “It’s inside me, I can feel it. You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son!”

“It could be a trick,” Sam growled.

“Sam, no,” Dean said, spitting up more blood. “Don’t you do it!”

“I can’t hold on much longer!” He fought his way up, bending his uninjured leg just enough to give him some leverage. He looked at Jayme, holding Dean secure. She could save him. She wouldn’t leave him or Sam, wouldn’t let them be hurt so long as she had her body to put in front of them. “You take care of them, hear me?”

“What!?” she barked. “No, don’t you dare!”

“No,” Dean moaned.

“Dad . . . I . . . ” Sam changed the angle, lowering the barrel just enough.

“No!” John roared. He could feel the demon writhing, readying its escape, and clamped down with every bit of power he had left. He looked over at Dean, then lunged up, grabbing Sam’s hand while his son was distracted. His thumb found Sam’s trigger finger at the same instant the barrel touched his chest.

“DAD!”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was shaking, staring in horror as his father’s body hit the floor, golden light cascading throughout.

“Dean, no, hold still!” Jayme said, her voice trembling.

“Dad . . . Dad . . . ”

“Sam,” Jayme said once she felt the ground steady under her. “Sam!” She waited until the younger Winchester had turned her way, his face still drawn with shock. “I need you to get my phone. We have to take care of Dean right now, okay?”

“But Dad—”

“It’s too late for him, Sam. But it’s not too late for your brother. Now get my phone, and hurry, all right?” Her voice was calm and steady and not without compassion.

He nodded mutely, staring at the Colt as if he’d never seen a gun before. Dropping it, he stumbled blindly to Jayme’s bag, reaching inside and pulling out her phone; unlike some of her other possessions, this was made and activated solely on Earth.

“Open it, go to my address book, and call the number listed under the name Dr. Feelgood.”

“Dr. . . . Feelgood?” 

“Bad joke. His name is Silensherra; call him Dr. Sherra.”

“He’s a neromancer?”

“Yeah. He’ll be able to get here faster than any human doctor.” Jayme turned back to Dean. “Honey, I have to pick you up, okay? I’m gonna try not to hurt you but no promises.”

He nodded, gasping for air. “Just . . . hurry . . . ”

Sliding one huge hand under his hips, she placed her other palm as flat as she could under his shoulders. Ignoring his sharp cry of pain, she lifted him up, moving him to the table as fast as she could as Sam dialed the number.

“I know, I know,” she said, changing back into her human form. She went over to the sink, washing the blood from her hands.

“Yes—no sir, I’m not—no, Jayme gave it to me! This is her phone! She is too!”

Jayme went over to Sam, taking the phone from him. “ _Silensherra, thes’ti Jhamera. Nha, na vehra nha-nonn_. Yes, I need you here right away.” She looked over at Dean. “Unknown internal injuries to his chest and left shoulder. He’s conscious, yes. Hurry.” She closed the phone. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“He will? How? From where?” Sam asked, making the mistake of glancing down at his father’s body and feeling as if the ground was dropping out from under him.

“He’s in Redwood Falls, Minnesota. But, since he’s the only neromancer doctor on the planet, he’s allowed to have a personal transporter. He can send himself—and anyone else, or any object—instantly anywhere on Earth. Gimme your coat.”

“What?”

“I need to put something under Dean’s head. Give me your coat.”

Sam immediately tore off his jacket and handed it to her. She folded it and slipped it under Dean’s head. “Hang on Dean,” she said. “Doctor’s coming, just hang on, okay?” Pulling out her knife, she sliced the shirt and t-shirt away from his shoulder, cutting from the neck down the sleeve until she could pull the fabric away. His flesh was torn in several places, but what made her gorge rise was the awful way his shoulder and chest were distended, as if his bones and innards had been rearranged. 

Sam just watched, his head aching with the force of the emotions roaring through him; everything had happened so fast he could barely find the breath to start taking it in. “Jayme, I—” He was interrupted by a knock at the door, making it a few steps towards it when a tall, imposing figure swept in. He was Sam’s height, with short black hair and brown eyes, his features stern and unsmiling as he took in the scene. His long white coat and tie and the bag he carried made him look human enough that no one would have questioned him.

“Silensherra, thank God,” Jayme said. “Over here, hurry.”

“I see you have once again managed to underestimate,” he said. “One of your true talents, Jhamera.”

When he reached the table Dean’s right arm shot up, grabbing his coat. “My dad,” he said through gritted teeth. “Over there on the floor. You gotta help him.”

Silensherra looked in the direction Dean indicated. “Jhamera?”

“Dean, he’s dead,” Sam said, nearly choking on the last word.

“No!” Dean snapped, the movement jarring his injured side. “These guys can bring him back, Sam!” He looked up at Silensherra, who had never seen such raw pain in human eyes before. “You gotta help him, please.”

Reaching up, Silensherra removed Dean’s hand from his coat, taking his bag and going over to John’s still form. He knelt, taking out a device that looked much more complex and powerful than the one Jayme carried, and ran it over John’s body. “What weapon was used? This is no ordinary gunshot wound.”

“It’s a long story,” Sam said. “Is there . . . anything you can do?”

Silensherra was silent for an interminable minute, the trio holding their breaths as he moved the scanner up and down, staring at its small readout with an ever-deepening frown. “I’m sorry. There’s no pulse, no respiration, no brain activity. The damage is too extensive. I think even had I arrived immediately, it still would have been beyond my capabilities.”

Dean closed his eyes, settling back against the table. The strength to shout had left him. “Just leave me alone,” he said.

“Len, if there’s nothing to be done, Dean needs you,” Jayme said, her voice tight.

“Indeed,” Len replied, standing up.

“No,” Dean groaned.

“You just shut up,” Jayme said, her voice breaking. “I’m not losing you.”

“Huh?” He struggled to focus, looking up at her. He wasn’t surprised to see tears in her eyes. But there was something else, a deeper pain that pinched her lips and the edges of her eyes. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said.

“Dean, please.” He glanced over at Sam and saw the same agony in his eyes. He’d lost a father, too. And he feared losing his brother.

Dean laid back. Being healed, getting better was the last thing he wanted right now. But for Sam, and for Jayme, he’d do it. “Do what you gotta, doc.”

Sam shuddered as Jayme and the doctor cleaned the blood from Dean’s torso until the torn flesh looked almost surgically neat. It didn’t look like much at first glance, but the distended area hinted at the deeper damage underneath. It filled him with a sick rage that ended only when he realized why he hadn’t been able to kill the demon. He still wasn’t sure he could, even now.

Jayme and Sam carefully lifted Dean up, Silensherra placing a sterile mat underneath. He got to work, doing a more involved version of what Jayme had done for them a dozen times, his more sophisticated and powerful instruments working to heal the marks of the demon’s anger.

Despite their advanced healing abilities, torn flesh and shattered bone still hurt to be drawn back together, and though Dean and pain sometimes went hand-in-hand, he still couldn’t suppress an occasional sound. Jayme didn’t coo or coddle, but she stayed rooted at the head of the table, her touches more gentle and personal than that of someone just rendering assistance.

Silensherra said nothing, focusing on his work. “You. Boy,” he said to Sam.

“Huh?”

“I need you to hold this device over his shoulder. Jhamera, do they know anything of our technology?”

“Basic skills and terms, yes,” she replied. “And his name is Sam.”

Sam took the scanner from Len and held it, realizing right away what he was supposed to do. It worked like a portable, real-time x-ray, giving a multi-layed image of Dean’s internal injuries. He tried to hold it still where the doctor could see, focusing on his fingers holding the edges and trying to shut everything else out.

“Jayme . . . ” Dean said, biting back a cry as Silensherra put his instruments down, his powerful hands snapping Dean’s shoulder back into place.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she said, letting him grip her wrist with his right hand, her other holding him steady. “Just relax, it’ll be over soon.”

“He . . . get you?” Dean’s eyes were glassy. It was clear he was sliding into shock.

“Len, hurry,” Jayme said.

“I’m moving as fast as I can. He’s lost a good deal of blood, but I cannot close his wounds until the internal injuries are healed.”

Moving without hurrying, Silensherra pulled out a rounded instrument with a clear vial on the end. “Jhamera, inject this on the side of his neck where his carotid artery is located. It will help stabilize him while I finish.” He looked up at Sam. “Are you his relation?”

“I’m his brother.”

“Are you his blood type?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Jhamera, go into my bag,” Silensherra said, nodding towards it. “I have a standard IV unit. Please draw at least one unit. That should be sufficient to keep my patient stable after the injection wears off.”

“Wait, you know how to do that?” Sam asked, watching Jayme roll up her sleeves.

“We all have standard first aid and basic medical training for both neromancers and humans, for emergencies.”

Sam watched as Jayme swabbed his arm, tying off his arm and finding a suitable vein, then sliding the needle in. “I knew you had to be able to take care of yourselves, since it’s not like you can go to a hospital, but I didn’t know you learned about us, too.”

“We have to be careful,” Jayme said. “The temptation to use our advanced technology to help humans injured or sick beyond your means is pretty big. Len here gives in to it all the time.”

Silensherra only grunted. “I’m a doctor. It’s not in my nature to ignore suffering. So I . . . bend the rules sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, frowning.

The physician’s gloved fingers helped guide Dean’s flesh as he closed the largest tear. “I have what you call a family practice, and there have been times when I’ve healed or cured things beyond your medicine. With only one exception the afflicted person was unaware that they were that ill, so I am still, as you say, below the radar.”

Sam just nodded, his gaze moving unbidden to his father’s body. All their advanced abilities, and there were still things beyond their reach. 

“He is your father?” Silensherra asked quietly.

Sam tried to speak, the words lodging themselves in his throat.

“Yes,” Jayme whispered. “John Winchester.”

“What happened?”

Sparing Sam, she spoke rapidly in Katarinian, explaining the events of the evening. Sam could pick out a word or two, filling in the rest from Jayme’s expressions.

Silensherra’s responses ranged from surprise to confusion to disbelief as he listened, his eyes focused on Dean, whose shoulder was almost entirely healed. “Jhamera, you are a woman of rare quality.” He gestured for her to remove the needle from Sam’s arm. “I have healed the damage caused by the . . . tkhohtk. He’s out of danger. It will be several weeks before he has full mobility and for the next several days he will have some pain. Earth medicines should relieve it. Jhamera, I trust you will be able to help him recover full muscle and tendon use.”

“Of course,” she said, handing him the blood. 

“What of him?” he asked, nodding to John as he replaced the needle and slid it into Dean’s arm. “I can make proper disposition of the body if you wish.”

“No,” Sam snapped. “We’ll take care of him. You’re not taking him anywhere.”

Silensherra merely raised an eyebrow. “Very well. I didn’t intend to snatch him away.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Jayme said. “It’s just that he’s familiar with the way humans take care of . . . you know.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But he’s our responsibility.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So this is what you’re doing with your time.”

Jayme was leaning on the outside of the cabin when Silensherra emerged. “I don’t expect you to understand, Len.”

“Oh, I understand that something dreadful happened here tonight and now there are two boys in there without their father, but what you described is imp—”

“Save it. It’s not impossible, Len. You know me; have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes, but a _thkohtk_?”

Jayme stepped into the light from the one filthy bulb over the door, raising her chin. Even in the dimness she knew his eyes were sharp enough to see the marks where she’d been squeezed. “Those two are tough but neither of them could have done this to me.”

“Jhamera, what is going on?”

“I’ve already told you. A long and deadly story of death and revenge. We of all beings in the universe should understand something like that.”

“And these two?”

“They’re my friends.”

Silensherra frowned. “They’re more than that. You’ve never looked like this before, Jhamera, and I’ve known you a very long time. I’m worried. This has all the appearances of you in over your head.”

She smiled, tipping her head. “Yeah, I probably am, but that’s okay. I’m here because of Ahma, and you know how she was.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just your help and your silence. For now.”

 

 

The neromancer known to humans as Dr. Leonard Sherra, a genial if somewhat reserved family physician who treated adult ailments with gentleness and childhood ailments with gentleness and lollipops, followed Jayme back into the cabin. He’d finished taking care of Dean after she ducked outside, giving him a dose of painkiller to help him relax and hopefully sleep, then stepping back to allow his brother to drape a blanket over him after they’d removed the tattered remains of his shirts. The scars on the older boy’s body had saddened him, but he sensed that neither of them wanted nor expected pity.

Sam was sitting next to the table, turned away from the sheeted body on the floor behind him. He looked stunned and lost, his chin resting on his crossed hands as he watched his brother sleep.

Jayme went over, touching his shoulder. “He’ll be okay, Sam. Stiff and probably bitching about it for a few days, but . . . ”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I can’t . . . I can’t believe he did it. Why did he do it?”

“I think you’d know better than me, Sam. I hardly knew the man.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Jayme didn’t speak, moving her hand to his other shoulder and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Listen, while Len’s here—you want us to help with your dad?”

For a moment it seemed that Sam was going to refuse, then he nodded. “We need to make a pyre, and I gotta find something to wrap him in.”

Jayme looked around. “I think all we have are those sheets, and they’re not in the best shape.”

“Allow me,” Len said, raising a hand. “I’m sure I can provide something more appropriate.” He took a small object from his pocket, holding it for a moment before he disappeared in a swirl of white light.

“Someday you’ll have to explain to me just how you guys do that,” Sam said. He gently took his coat out from under Dean’s head and put it on. “I’ll be outside.”

Jayme nodded. “I’ll stay with Dean. So if he wakes up he’s not alone.”

“Okay. Good idea. You okay?”

“As much as I can be,” she replied.

When Sam was gone everything was quiet, Dean’s slow, steady breathing the only thing distinguishing between the two elder Winchesters. She sat down in the chair Sam had just vacated, feeling the bloodfire exit in a rush, leaving her feeling weak and shaky. She leaned down, resting her forehead on Dean’s arm, and let the tears flow.

Her people were adaptable, but events on Earth changed so fast it was hard to keep up. Just a hour or so ago John Winchester had been alive, and the quickness of a single bullet had changed everything, including bringing a twenty-three year hunt to an end. Dean had been hurt; she’d asked few questions but Silensherra’s grim expression and the few glances of the scanner she’d seen was enough to tell her that without his intervention Dean would have died in whatever hospital they’d have taken him to, or if by some miracle he’d lived, he’d have lost most of the use of his arm, ending his days as a hunter.

“Hey Jaymes?” Dean whispered, bringing her head up with a snap.

“Yeah?”

“Got a question.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“What’s tok . . . takta . . . taktapiranha mean?”

Despite everything she laughed. “ _Tahktahprha_. There’s no one-to-one translation, but . . . I pretty much called the demon a cocksucker.”

Dean let out a hoarse bark. “That’s a good one. What was that other word?”

“ _Semsha_. Asshole.”

“I like that tahkta one better.”

“Yeah, it is one of the heavies. How’s the arm?”

“Numb. Si-what’s-his-name gave me a shot. Almost enough to make me think I was dreaming.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I’d give anything to make the last couple hours a dream.”

“I know. I just . . . wanna go to sleep and stay there.”

Jayme grabbed his hand, well below where he’d been injured, and squeezed it hard enough for him to feel it over the pain meds. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Why.”

“You remember back in Iowa? When you said you needed me? I’ve never been needed before, and hearing that . . . I’d have followed you right through the gates of Hell. Still would. But you listen to me. It goes both ways. I need you, and Sam needs you. You’re all we have now, and if you think I’m gonna let you just roll over . . . ” She stopped, waiting until the tremble left her voice. “You better think again.”

His eyes were open, and he was looking at her. She swallowed hard, trying to fight the lump that was burning and pulsating in the back of her throat. He looked so exhausted and hurt that fresh rage at the demon boiled up, almost making her wish it were still there so she could kill it herself, then bring it back and kill it again. “You look like crap, Jaymes,” he said, closing his eyes. “Where’s Sam?”

The faint teasing hint in his voice loosened the vise around her heart. “Outside. He said . . . a pyre needs to be built. Silensherra’s getting something to wrap your father in. Something other than an old sheet. Your dad deserves better.”

“He really took that demon down, didn’t he?”

“Yes he did. And I think . . . it’s what he was counting on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think he wanted to . . . ” She shook her head. “English doesn’t have the words. He wanted _dhenamara dhe kthantla_. To go down fighting, but do it so that it’s not just a loss, but that it means something. It’s not empty. And that’s what I could see, what he told me. The only two things he wanted out of this was for that demon to be dead, and you two safe. And now . . . he has both.”

“Yeah, but he’s not here to see it,” Dean said. “I mean, I’m glad the demon’s gone, I am, but . . . ”

“You wish he were here. I know. I do too.”

“Thought you hated him.”

“Hate’s a strong word, Dean, and usually it’s one I reserve for the things we hunt. I might not have liked everything about your dad, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He loves you two very much— _both_ of you, I don’t give a crap what that demon said.”

“And just how do you know that?”

“Because he told me so. He only asked two things of me back in Colorado. Keep you both safe, and if the demon really did get killed, to stay with you guys. And I intend to keep doing both.”

“So that’s your job now, huh?”

She leaned closer. “You got a better one in mind?”


	5. Chapter 5

She found Sam almost a hundred yards away; even without the lantern he’d set up on a fallen log she could follow his scent. He had found a small clearing and was methodically arranging firewood and sticks into a pyre.

“Lug those logs all the way here?” she asked. The cabin was threadbare but had a good supply of dry cordwood stacked and tarped around the back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Couple at a time.”

“Need any more?”

He shook his head. “Think I have enough. How’s Dean?”

“Same as always.”

“Is the doctor back yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet, but he will be soon. How are you holding up?”

Sam stacked several more pieces of wood around the platform he’d made, one just big enough to hold a single person. “I don’t want to think about it. Not yet.”

“I understand. Of course, you know that just as well as I do.”

“Is this . . . is this how you felt when your mom . . . ?”

“Probably. Where you feel like your heart’s been ripped out and turned to stone all at once? Yeah. But you know what helps?”

Sam just shook his head. “No, what?”

“You’re not alone. Things would have been a thousand times harder for me if you and Dean had just taken off when Ahma was killed. But you didn’t, and that means more than I’ll ever be able to say. So you’re stuck with me now.”

A ghost of a smile touched Sam’s face. “And I suppose nothing Dean or I could ever say would change that, right?”

She got a thoughtful look, looking up at the sky. “Well, I suppose you could try, but . . . doubtful.” She looked over her shoulder at a brief flare of light. “Len’s back. Let’s see what he’s brought.”

 

 

It was not in Dean Winchester’s nature to be introspective. All that touchy-feely crap was Sam’s thing, not his. Truth was he tried not to think about feelings at all. It was too painful and there was no point.

But lately he found his thoughts drifting that way more often, most of the time before he had a chance to stop them. Especially now, when it was quiet and he had a chance to think.

The demon was gone. It was really _gone_. He had prepared for this day his whole life, had dreamed about it, fantasized a thousand different ways for the thing to die (none of which, of course, involved Dad dying with it—but he’d always known how likely it was to go down that way, hadn’t he?) and yet now that the day was finally here, it was almost impossible to take in.

It was over. The nightmare they’d lived their whole lives was over.

But it didn’t feel over.

He wouldn’t say anything to Sam. The thought of Sam going back to the normal life he wanted so much was like a knife in his side—especially since now that Dad was gone, Sam was all he had left.

_You have Jayme, dumbass._

It wasn’t the same. Couldn’t be the same. Truth was he’d gotten used to the three of them—it was comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected, and the thought of it ending was more than he could bear. 

Enough. First things first. For now Sam was still here. Maybe he and Jayme could convince him.

The door opened and he tensed despite himself, the movement jarring the heavy, throbbing misery that was his shoulder. He couldn’t stop the sharp cry of pain as he did so.

“Are you all right?” The doctor was back, holding a long roll of white cloth in his hands. He set it aside, moving for the table. He pulled back the blanket, giving Dean’s shoulder a quick visual scan.

“Fine,” Dean said. “How’s it look?”

“Considering the damage, better than I would usually hope for. You are quite resilient for a human.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Silensherra smiled; for some reason he looked familiar when he did. “I don’t mean that as an insult. There are many differences between our species; humans succumb to injury and illness more easily than we do. That’s a fact. However, what you lack in strength you make up for in determination.”

“Don’t feel real determined. What’s that stuff you brought?”

“Egyptian cotton.”

“You didn’t have t—”

“Yes, I am well aware. I did not know your father but to have inspired such passion in Jhamera he must have been special. She doesn’t give it lightly.”

“No, she doesn’t. You’re a strange doctor.”

Again the smile. “Am I now?”

“You’re not trying to ask me about my feelings or get me to cry or trying to refer me to some stupid grief counselor.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Dean.”

“Dean. I’ve ministered to countless humans and neromancers in my years. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that when you have an intelligent being in pain, whether it’s physical, emotional, spiritual, or metaphysical, the last thing you want to do is get pushy. My only concern when I entered this room was preserving life, taking care of the most serious injuries first, and making that my focus until my work was done. And as little as it might mean to you, I am truly sorry that I was not able to bring your father back. But I’m also a realist, and things are as they are. I’ll help you in whatever way you need or ask, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“You know you talk like Obi-wan Kenobi?”

“Hardly. I picture myself much more of a . . . Marlon Brando type.”

Dean blinked. “You? Brando? Dude, you are way off.”

“Perhaps not Apocalypse Now or On the Waterfront Brando, certainly not Streetcar Named Desire, but perhaps Jor-El Brando,” Silensherra said.

His eyes widened. “You’ve seen all those?”

“Of course, and many more. Your motion pictures are quite fascinating and this one actor for me is quite captivating, despite the decline of his later years.”

“I can’t see you as Brando. At all.”

“Perhaps not. Our natural speech comes across as more formal and ornate, so we must sometimes sound rather like actors reading lines.”

“Sure sounds like it to me. Jayme’s mom talked like you, and Jayme does sometimes. It’s like she can turn it on and off.”

Silensherra nodded. “Of course. It’s why she is so good at her job. She’s able to . . . relate to you crazy kids. But I don’t believe that it’s a put on. She has immersed herself more fully than any neromancer I’ve ever known.”

“You mean she—”

“I don’t know. Those of us on this planet have to be able to adapt to your cultures and behaviors enough to pass as one of you. But it doesn’t make us one of you. We can dress and talk and work as a human, we can look identical, but we are not human inside. Your cultures, your mores, your traditions mean very little to us. We have a completely different perspective on everything, or almost everything. Some of us find it harder to relate than others. Some of us don’t stay long at all. But Jhamera . . . seems to thrive here, to be comfortable on this planet more than any other neromancer I’ve known.”

“Yeah, she does. Don’t think she even thinks about it anymore.”

“Think about what?” Jayme said, coming in, followed by Sam.

“Nothing.” Dean slowly sat up. “I need a shirt and my jacket.”

“What for?” Sam asked.

“Because I’m not going out there half naked, Sammy,” Dean said, almost snapping. “And I am going out with you guys.”

Sam looked at Len. “Can he?”

“I would not dare stop him.”

Dean watched as Sam and Jayme wrapped John in the fabric Silensherra had brought, Jayme staying Sam’s hands once they reached his chest. She reached up, taking off the ornate copper pendant with its shiny green jewel, and placed it around John’s neck.

“What’s that for?” Sam asked.

She shrugged. “Just seems appropriate.”

Dean turned his head away as they finished wrapping Dad’s body. He couldn’t bear to look, knowing it was the last time he’d see his father’s face. Silensherra was there, watching with an expression that wasn’t empathy or lack thereof, but somewhere in between. Dean, having been witness to the grief of others that he didn’t feel himself, understood completely.

“This how you guys do it?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

Dean just waved at the trio with his right hand, as if to say “that.”

“Very much so. There’s more ritual involved, but the result is the same.” He stepped back as Jayme changed, lifting the wrapped body. He waited until she and Sam passed, then turned to Dean. “Are you able to walk?”

Dean slid down from the table, wobbling only slightly. “I’m fine. I got it.” He started for the door, stopped by a strong hand on his good arm. “What?”

Silensherra dropped something over his head, easing his left arm into the makeshift sling. “Try not to jar your arm too much. Despite appearances it’s still healing, and if you were to become injured again I would have to answer to Jhamera. That’s not high on my list of priorities.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 

“Jhamera, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.” 

They’d backed off, giving Sam and Dean a private moment. He could tell that it was more her choice than an insistence on their part. She looked at them with longing even as she spoke to him. “After Ahma was killed they didn’t have any reason to stay with me, but they did. They didn’t owe anything to her or me, they barely knew me, but they didn’t leave me alone. And after, they let me come with them. It hasn’t been easy, but they take care of me and I take care of them. That’s the way it is. _Khi’ti stidha denrhyasa, Silensherra-sen_.”

“Your _denrhyasa_? Have you told them that?”

“Not yet. I don’t think at this point that they’d understand.”

“I know that I don’t.”

“Like I said, Len. You don’t have to, so long as you trust me. Nothing else matters.” She patted his arm, then crossed over to Dean and Sam, who lit the pyre.

Silensherra, whose house name was Dherengar but who had been a friend of the house of Nashratista for centuries, who had been on Earth for just over a hundred years, watched Jhamera cross the distance between him and her human friends. He was no stranger to neromancers who formed bonds with humans—living and working on Earth often made professional detachment impossible, but those bonds were usually casual. Humans were too different, too alien, too primitive for any meaningful relationships, especially since with very few exceptions neromancers had to hide who they really were.

Something was very different with these two, beyond their knowledge and acceptance of her. Jhamera did not look at them casually; they were her entire focus, and he would bet a years’ worth of slow-roasted, spiced filet mignon that she would fight to the death for either one of them. If they really were her _denrhyasa_ , then she had thrown in her lot with them, no matter what came.

And there was nothing he could do about it.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had made a good pyre.

It held firm even as the flames consumed the shapeless wrapped form that Dean refused to think of as Dad. He just watched, letting the brightness of the flames burn his eyes as much as the tears that were fighting to get out. He wouldn’t let them; a quick glance told him Sam wasn’t even trying.

“What do we do now?” Sam finally asked.

“Nothing,” Jayme said. “All the time in the world for that. Later.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked.

“Just that I seem to recall two idiots who wouldn’t let me make any big decisions for a few days after my world crumbled around me. And it was the right thing to do, so . . . same deal. We take the time to breathe.”

“We?” Sam asked.

“I mean ‘you.’”

“No, Sam. We. We should stick together. I know you’re all hot to get back to your normal life and all—” Dean said.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Sam said. He didn’t sound at all sure. “I think Jayme’s right. We should go somewhere—maybe Bobby’s—and just give it some time. Everything’s changed now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking back at the slowly ebbing flames.

_So why doesn’t it feel like it has?_


End file.
